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The first time you look down at her, everything is too fresh. She looks devastated, tears running down her face, carving channels of sorrow into the pale skin of her cheeks. Her skin is ever lighter than usual, as if life was drained from her. You did that to her, when you left. Your heart aches and you wish you could do something, anything to alleviate her suffering, to stop those beautiful brown eyes you got lost in so many times from shedding any more tears than they already have. Her black dress falls perfectly over her shoulders and her hips, cupping her body like a cocoon, protecting her in a way you’ll never be able to do, again.
The contrast between her pale skin and the darkness of her clothes is something mesmerizing and you want to turn your head, to avert your gaze because it hurts to see her like that. It hurts to know that she’s in pain because of you, because you didn’t stick around as you promised you would. And she’s suffering, but she doesn’t blame you, even though she would be right to do it. She doesn’t blame you, and, as always, she loves you even more. God, you don’t deserve her. And she didn’t deserve what you did to her. You left her alone after promising to always be there.
But you don’t do it.
The second time you look down at her, she’s still crying herself to sleep every night, your name on her lips as she hiccups from all the tears she spills. Her pillow is flooded with her sorrow and it can no longer hold her tears. She’s spilled too many and you don’t deserve them, not one of them. Your goal in life was to always make sure there was a smile on her face and now her face barely meets the sunlight anymore.
She alienated herself from the real world, her pain too great to be contained in public and your friends have tried to help, to comfort her, but they’re not what she needs. They’re not you. And, oh, how it pains you to know there’s nothing you can do about it. You have never in your life felt more insufficient, more useless than when you looked down at her and witness her misery. And you want to outstretch your arm and caress her hair, her shoulder, her cheek. You know you could do it, it was possible, just to stop the pain for a short while.
But you don’t do it.
The third time you look down at her, she’s starting to get better. But it’s not because she wants to, it’s because other people force her to. They say she’d got her time of wailing, that she’d grieved him enough and it’s time to get ahold of herself and make some order in her life because she can’t go on like that. And he agrees with them. He doesn’t deserve her sorrow and he does definitely not deserve her love and devotion.
Her mother forces her to eat and they get into numerous fights because of it. She’s just as stubborn as always, but she also knows her mother is right. There’s just so much pain inside her chest, keeping her from breathing properly and she had to get it out somehow. So she uses her mother, which is unfair, she knows, but so does her mother and she just accepts it out of love for her daughter. It’s a slow process, but it’s a progress, nonetheless. She’s starting to get better now and you want to turn away, you want to leave and let her heal in peace.
But you don’t do it.
The fourth time you look down at her, small, timid smiles are starting to form on her face. But they aren’t always sincere, even though she tries. There’s still bitterness hidden behind them that she can’t let go of. Her chest still feels like an open wound, but she’s starting to learn how to live with the constant bleeding. She’s sewing herself up again, piece by piece and it will be a long time before she’s whole again or as close as she can get to it, but she’ll do it, one day.
And you want to tell her how proud you are that she’s starting to heal, that she’s finally getting back to her life. Because you hate seeing her suffer because of you, because of your absence. And you want her to be happy, with or without you.
But you don’t do it.
The fifth time you look down at her it’s after a long long period of time. You’ve stopped doing it because it was hurting the both of you. It was like she could feel you whenever your gaze fell on her and it only managed to torment her more, instead of offering her peace of mind. So you’ve kept yourself away, for her sake. And, God, had it been difficult. But you can’t stay away, it’s been way too long. You need just a glance, a short one, to make sure she is fine.
There are soft wrinkles around her mouth and the dark circles under her eyes are still there, always, just like you remember them. And the pain is still there, muted, even though she smiles a lot more now than she did when you last saw her. She’s talking to people you don’t recognize and you realize how much time has actually passed. And, right then, she looks up as if she felt your presence, but she doesn’t cry, not anymore. She smiles. She knows. And you want to stay, God, how badly you want to stay. Just a few more minutes, to watch her.
But you don’t do it.
The sixth time you don’t look down at her. You look in front of you, where she’s waiting for you. And she’s hypnotizing. She outstretches her arm and you take a few steps forward, without thinking, slipping your hand into hers. Her smile is blinding and you can’t help but mirror it. All this time you thought you were waiting for her but, in reality, she was the one who’s been waiting. And you thought she cried because you left her alone, when, in fact, she was crying because she left you alone.
And you want to tell her how much you missed her, how difficult it had been to watch her suffer and how much you did, too. And you want to promise her that you’ll never leave her again, not this time. And you want to hold her close and tell her how much you love her.
And, for the first time in forever, you do it.